


Monkey Gone To Heaven

by DeadCaffeineJunkie



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Slurs, Canon-typical language, Coercion, DADT, Emotional Manipulation, Facial Shaving, Head Shaving, Homophobic Slurs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Major Depression, Manipulation, Mild substance abuse, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-OIF, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ripped Fuel abuse, Some internalised homophobia, Tenderness, abuse of rank, post-Iraq
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadCaffeineJunkie/pseuds/DeadCaffeineJunkie
Summary: "I had to suck an officer's cock to get these.""That's exploitation. You've been exploited by your betters."
Relationships: Anthony "Manimal" Jacks & Ray Person, Brad Colbert/Ray Person, Ray "Casey Kasem" Griego/Ray Person
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	1. If Man Is Five

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter headings from _'Monkey Gone to Heaven'_ by the Pixies  
> Summary taken from the Generation Kill series, episode 1, Get Some
> 
> I'm sacrificing some accuracy from the book in favor of fiction to keep it as divorced from the real guys as possible; this fic is based on the characters in the series and not at all on the real guys, at all. 
> 
> I've also sacrificed some realism for fiction, but isn't that what fiction is? No? I suck. 
> 
> I left it up to the Reader as to whether or not the flashbacks in italics were said explicitly or if they were just talked around - I hope that came across. 
> 
> This fic is un-beta'd, feel free to let me know if something doesn't make sense.

Most Marines could compartmentalise to some extent - anyone faced with combat was able to really. The things that you saw that you had to ignore, that you didn't want to see, things that you couldn't do anything about due to senseless orders, those things went into a box or a chest or a room in your mind where they could be hidden away. 

Sometimes they stayed suppressed forever, but a lot of the time they would come creeping out of the darkness as soon as the weight of operating in the AO lifted and no longer held those boxes closed.

For Ray, the ability to compartmentalise was the only thing that kept him going through Operation Iraqi Freedom, that and copious amounts of Ripped Fuel. 

He shut the things he couldn't afford to think about back behind a door and locked it down hard, ignored it using distraction and ephedra and running his mouth about nothing; he did this so well that sometimes it seemed he'd genuinely cut those incidents out of his memory.

But now he was back in the real world and those memories were leaking back.

\--

Brad couldn't say that he hadn't seen this coming. Nate had been one of the few good leaders during the nonsense that was 1st Recon's sprint through Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom, but he'd been ground down between the millstones of incompetent superiors and the unavoidable frustration of his men. 

He couldn't even say that Nate had put too much faith in their leaders, because all the man had expected was a basic level of competence from them. The brass, from Encino Man up, had let Nate down and Brad knew the rest of Bravo couldn't begrudge Nate choosing to paddle out.

Gunny Wynn kept Nate from cracking too early under pressure during their deployment; his good natured manner and an easiness that came from long experience in the Marines provided a cushion that kept Nate from spiralling out.   
Nate, to his credit, wasn't blocked by the arrogance of most officers and let himself rely on Mike's wisdom and advice - it was part of the reason he'd been so liked by his men, this willingness to listen to them when he needed to.

Mike had been Nate's right-hand man out in Iraq so it made sense that he was the one to arrange Nate's paddle party; he had that big backyard and a brick-built grill so it only made sense from him to host it too.

Brad had turned up a little late with a couple cases of beer and some steaks for the grill, looking evenly tanned and back to his pre-deployment weight. Most of the guys had managed to build back the body mass they'd lost while near-starving on restricted rations back in Iraq, but the ghost of those lean times still lingered in the loose clothes of some of the others.

Mike greeted Brad with his usual lazy grin, thanking him for his contributions to what was turning into a Recon-typical gathering, some of the guys already more than tipsy. There was a chess game going, like old times in the tent at Camp Mathilda in Kuwait, with friendly bets being made over who would win. The smell of hot dogs and burgers was already in the air and there was talk of tossing around a football which seemed likely to remain only talk.

Nate was being liberally plied with drink and gave Brad an uncharacteristic and somewhat sloppy hug when he saw him.

"Brad! Glad to see you made it! Grab a plate and a beer from the kitchen and come hang out with us." He wasn't falling over drunk - yet - but his face was pinked with a gentle flush and his eyes were maybe a little glossy. More than that, he had a genuine smile on his face that knocked the 5 years he seemed to have gained by the end of OIF right off him. 

Brad himself smiled to see his former LT look so relaxed, that strain missing from the line of his shoulders; as good an officer as Nate had been, Brad knew that getting out of the Corps was the best thing for him.

He got a beer from the kitchen, saying hi to everyone who greeted him along the way, and then settled down with a hot dog while waiting for the steaks to go on the grill.

He found Walt and Trombley talking outside with Poke, Rudy and, as a pleasant surprise, Pappy, who was still using a crutch to get about but who was currently seated on a lawn chair that someone - probably Rudy - had thoughtfully brought over for him. 

Brad listened to Pappy talk about his physio and a little about his recovery, and then Rudy telling him about the yoga studio he was hoping to set up in San Francisco; the martial arts expert let the others rib him about it with his usual good-humour.

Trombley was thinking about going career and said he had no plans to leave the Marines anytime soon. There was still a lot of the teenager who'd seen Brad as a role model and who'd tried to fit in with bravado and tall tales in Trombley, but it had been tempered with a new maturity and confidence that Brad had seen seeded by the time they'd reached Ad Diwaniyah. 

Someone else might have felt resentful, missing Trombley's hero-worship, but Brad was just proud. Proud and a little relieved to have brought the young Marine through a war without breaking him.

He was pleased to see that Walt looked good, as easy-going and genial as he ever was. He'd put the weight he'd lost back on and Brad was relieved to see that the dark detachment that had made a home in Walt's eyes since his error at the Al Muwaffaqiyah roadblock wasn't showing anymore. 

He could guess that it still haunted Walt, the way the boy Trombley had shot and injured still haunted his own thoughts in the dead of night, but it was gratifying that it was no longer visible. The young man had always had an even composure that made him seem older than his then 23 years, and that hadn't gone away.

It was good to see that Walt hadn't changed, just as it was good to see that Trombley had.

It was Poke who ended up addressing the elephant in the room, because of course it was. Poke looked a little tired, maybe a little stressed, but there was a deep happiness underlying it all due to the fact that he'd just become a dad again. 

His wife had all but forced him to go out tonight, insisting that not only was she capable of looking after the new baby on her own, but that he was driving her crazy being underfoot all the time. He had a beer in his hand that he'd been nursing all night and was trying to ignore his anxiousness to get back home and be with his family. His wife had been right though, he needed a night out; besides, he'd like Nate to turn up to his own paddle party, which would be happening pretty soon.

"I'm surprised Person didn't show." he commented, looking at Brad as though Brad was Ray's keeper.

"He didn't respond to the email." Brad said with a casual shrug, trying to hide how annoyed he was himself at Ray's uncharacteristic radio silence.

"Still expected him to show." Poke said, the careful look he was not-giving Brad saying more than his casual tone implied.

Brad hadn't heard from his RTO since they'd left Camp Pendleton, and Ray had been unusually withdrawn and quiet even then. 

Brad just put it down to Ray coming down off the Ripped Fuel and post-deployment numbness; he'd been showing signs of instability even before they'd left Iraq, tackling Rudy of all people for no apparent reason. 

Ray wasn't the only Marine to be adversely affected by the use of ephedra, and at least he hadn't fallen into actual psychosis as could happen when Ripped Fuel was overused. He and Rudy had made up even before the trip back home.

Still, Ray may as well have disappeared when they hit Stateside. Brad had never seen him so quiet; the next thing he knew, Ray had gone.

Brad might have a reputation for being 'the Iceman', but Bravo Company especially knew that it was because Brad had an almost unearthly ability to remain cool under fire. He was maybe a little more deadpan than the average Marine, but he wasn't the emotionless robot that his nickname erroneously suggested he was 

That didn't mean that it wasn't Ray who managed to pull the most smiles, the most laughter from Brad when they were working together. Ray was impudent without being insubordinate, familiar without broaching the walls Brad did have, toeing the lines of Brad's patience which became less and less defined with the more time they spent together.

Ray had been a surprise in Afghanistan, someone Brad had initially dismissed as a hyperactive kid who ran his mouth in order to disguise his shortcomings, only to discover that Ray had more brains under his cover than almost anyone else under Brad's command. More attitude too, but you couldn’t have everything. 

No one else knew more about their radios and how to coax the dated equipment into communicating than Ray did, but it was the way his competence shone through when he wasn't being underestimated that really drew Brad's attention. It was easy to overlook Ray because of his rants and his irreverence and his young age, but Brad had been forced to pay attention and he'd found someone he genuinely liked.

There had been a weird ‘thing’ between them even back then; Ray had still been a Lance-Corporal at the time, so it had been easy for Brad to quash any interest due to the difference in rank. He could dismiss it as some kind of mentor-mentee relationship, although he should have known better; while Ray’s brain greedily soaked up new information, he’d never behaved like a star-struck pupil. 

When they kept in contact stateside it only bred an easy familiarity between them, where the rhythm that became instinctive started to develop. 

Okay, they also bickered like an old married couple when Ray pushed a little too far, or Brad made a joke too mean, but for the most part Ray's supporting role allowed Brad to function as his best self. 

Somewhere between being irritated at that mile-a-minute ranting in Afghanistan and having the kind of familiarity that had Brad cautioning Ray about his use of Ripped Fuel, or Ray anticipating Brad's need for dip, Brad came to realise that he felt a little more towards his RTO than just friendship or brotherhood.

Brad thought once or twice on an evening when they were sitting a quiet, companionable watch together that it would only take one or the other to lean in, close the distance between them and start something; of course it had never happened. 

He'd still been under the impression that his feelings were reciprocated; nothing had been explicitly stated, but Brad believed they were just waiting until they reached California and were out from under the watchful eyes of DADT to broach the topic

But then Ray had just vanished. 

He knew that Ray wasn't going to re-up when he heard the bitterness begin to outweigh the humour in his often off-colour jokes. Brad knew that Ray couldn't go through that again, not after OIF had taken so much out of him, not after the ephedra had ripped through his system and left him strung out and empty, but he hadn't expected the sudden and total radio silence.

Ray hadn't even stuck around for a paddle party. Brad had tried to contact him but Ray hadn't answered his phone, hadn't answered his emails, hadn't even replied to the letter Brad had eventually sent. He could only conclude that Ray had left him- had left the Marines behind as though it hadn't meant anything to him at all.

Poke was still looking at him as though Brad should have more to say, so Brad stalked away to get another beer, irritated at the topic and irritated that he was irritated. Fucking Ray.

The group had dissolved away a little when Brad returned so he was only joining Rudy and Pappy; he couldn't say he wasn't relieved, if only because he wanted to avoid talking about Ray again with Poke. He should have known he couldn't escape the little pain in the ass, even when he wasn't there.

"Hey brother, have you heard anything from Ray?"

"He hasn't contacted me." Brad said a little flatly before sighing; it was difficult to be short with Rudy, especially when he had that open, earnest, concerned look about him. "I don't know where he is, or what he's doing, but look - if he doesn't want to associate with us anymore now that he's out, there's nothing we can do about it." If he was trying to hide his bitterness he was doing a poor job.

Rudy seemed taken aback for a moment before his brow furrowed in a way that made Brad feel like he'd done something wrong.

"Brad..." Rudy started, sounding sharper almost than Brad had ever heard him before he then stopped and considered Brad instead; those dark eyes were looking almost into him like Rudy could weigh his soul. "Brad. Has Jacks spoken to you?"

That could have been a change of subject, but Brad knew better. Rudy's tone of voice, soft and careful like he was picking over sore territory immediately made Brad feel cold and clenched up, his throat tight in a way that he hadn't even felt under fire on the bridge at Al Muwaffaqiyah.

\--

Brad knew there wasn't anything he could do after speaking to Jacks, even if he did give into his first impulse to immediately leave the party and track Ray down. Nothing had changed between halfway through OIF and Brad hearing the story that would make any difference and Brad owed it to Nate to be there as his paddle was handed over. 

He tried to put it to the back of his mind as the men gathered round and the paddle was passed from hand to hand while stories were told, ignoring the twitching sensation of anxiety that was foreign to him. He could be the Iceman while standing outside in the middle of a shamal, he remained cool and composed under fire while stuck in a kill zone, there was no reason he should feel so on edge now.

He allowed himself to become fully absorbed by the tale-telling by the time his turn to speak came around. Nate was red faced from more than alcohol now, amused, embarrassed and touched in turn by the tales the men told. Walt told the story about Nate magically procuring gun lube for the Mk-19. 

Doc related, with relish, the incident where Nate confronted Encino Man about calling in a danger close fire mission, which was less about Nate confronting Encino Man and more about how he'd given Schwetje all the rope he'd need to hang himself with.

Brad considered telling them all the story of the bomb he'd wanted to detonate in Baghdad when Nate had ordered him out of the hole the thing was sitting in, but he decided on recounting the story of Nate's complete refusal to send the men out into the chaotic city in the middle of the night, point blank disobeying orders to spare his men. 

He ended on the same note as he had back then, his eyes steady on Nate's even now; "I trust your judgement, sir." Nate was far too drunk to be able to maintain any kind of stoicism and Brad handed the paddle away to Chaffin quickly before things could get weepy.

Brad had almost let himself believe he'd forgotten the reason for the anxious tickle in the back of his mind until Chaffin started telling the story about Casey Kasem's attempt to goad Nate into bickering in front of his men. He described the way Nate had pretended that he had mistakenly given the Gunnery Sergeant his approval while half-asleep instead of letting Griego successfully start the shit he was trying to stir, putting aside his own pride for the sake of not rising to Griego's bait.

"We knew it was bullshit, there's no way Casey Kasem would be trying to cover for Nate. LT wasn't having it though." Then, to Nate, "Me and Rudy heard what you said." Laughing, Chaffin attempted a semi-accurate impression of how Nate had sounded that night: " _'You can fuck me with me all you want, but do not, I repeat, do NOT fuck with my men. I'm putting it down Gunny. You picking it up?'_ Man, Griego was a jealous son of a bitch. He only hated you because he knew you were better than him, LT."

Nate was trying to look bashful about not being more subtle, but obviously appreciated that his men thought so highly of him.

Brad had a strange ringing in his ears. He was thinking about the mile wide mean streak in Gunnery Sergeant Griego and his obvious grudge against Nate.

He was thinking about how the man could be antagonised simply by Brad's request for him to do his job. And he was thinking about the way Casey Kasem wasn't above playing dirty to get his own back.

He needed to talk to Ray.

\--

It was barely early next morning and more like later that night when Brad found himself pushing the speed limit in his rarely-used car towards the last address he had for Ray. He could wait for hours scoping out a hamlet or watching a mountain, valley, stretch of land, solitary house, anything, but he hadn't been able to make himself wait for a reasonable hour to leave. 

Even then, and even making good time, he'd still have to stop somewhere for the night before he reached Missouri. He could have pushed himself if he really had to, and he felt like he should, but he had to apply some common sense and break the trip up. He wouldn’t be able to do anything arriving a few hours early than he could do arriving a little later but more rested. 

As it was, he still drove for 17 hours, stopping at the first place that had an available room and crashing out for a scant five hours before he got back on the road. He was tired, but he'd had less rest in Iraq; he'd been trained for worse and he was more than motivated to reach his goal. 

The whole thing did give him a new respect for Ray and the other Humvee drivers, and the hours they'd had to stay awake driving during OIF. Keeping his attention on the road in itself was draining, and he didn't have the added pressures Ray had worked under; driving in the dark in NVG’s, checking for mines, maintaining an antique communications system, monitoring the net, the knowledge that he was point for an entire platoon. 

He should have made it to Nevada in the early morning, but traffic conspired to delay him; tracking down the trailer park that was Ray's last known whereabouts had him arriving in the early afternoon. 

He tracked down Ray's mother's trailer which was more of a mobile home, a large and well-tended affair, but his knock on the door didn't raise Ray. A woman answered instead and Brad knew this was Ray's mom, both from the familial resemblance and because he remembered seeing her pulling Ray into a hug among the crowd of family and friends that greeted the platoon when they came home from deployment. 

She seemed to recognise Brad as someone Ray worked with, but didn't say anything when she saw him at the door.

"Mrs Person?"

"Miss Person."

"Miss Person, I’m Sergeant Brad Colbert. I was Ray's team leader back in Iraq. I wondered if he was available?"

Someone who wasn't a Recon Marine might have missed the brief curl of the woman's lip when he mentioned Ray's name. It looked like contempt or disgust but that didn't make sense to Brad; by all accounts, Ray's mother had a close relationship with her son. 

"He doesn't live here anymore." she said shortly. 

"Do you have a-" Brad didn't have the chance to finish his sentence before the door was shut in his face, leaving him speechless. 

He took a step back, running his hand over his head as he tried to plan out his next step. He hadn't expected to be turned away at the door, and he wondered if he should try hanging around to see if Ray showed up when the screen door of the neighbour's mobile home squeaked open on rusty hinges. 

"You looking for Joshua Ray?" An older woman with vibrant pink hair eyed him from the doorstep. 

"Yes ma'am."

"What d'y'all want with him?"

"I'm a friend of his. We served together in Iraq." 

The woman looked sceptical. "You didn't know he moved?" 

"This is the last address I had for him. He hasn't answered his phone or his emails, I haven't been able to get a hold of him."

The woman looked him up and down and something she saw made her relax, if only a little. "Well, you're definitely military, I've only ever seen military stand like that. Stay there, I'll see if I've got his new address." 

She disappeared back into the trailer and Brad caught sight of a nervous tabby cat peeking out at him before it vanished inside again as the woman returned. "Here. This is where he was last I knew." 

"Thank you ma'am." Brad said politely, taking the scrap of envelope with an address scribbled across it. 

His confusion must have been visible because the woman spoke again. "I've been sending him his mail. I've known him since he was little, used to babysit for his mama when she was out working. His gramma and me were friends. You can bet she wouldn'a let his mama kick him out if she were still alive. Helluva a thing to do to your only kid."

That was curious, but Brad didn't have the time to stay and ask questions. "Yes ma'am. Thank you for this, I'll tell him I saw you." 

"You do that." 

Brad looked up the new address on his phone once he reached his car and was relieved to find it was another trailer park a little more than an hour away, or less than an hour if you drove the way Brad did. 

The new place was less of a neighbourhood and more of a dump, the contrast to the one he'd just left stark. There were some RVs with flat tyres but the land was mostly populated with older, cheaper trailers, a few of them barely longer than Brad's car. 

Brad navigated through the maze of vehicles until he came to the plot on his scrap of paper. The trailer was an old model which was up on blocks as it was missing its wheels, one that might have been white some years ago before the dirt layered on it smudged it grey. 

Someone had once made an attempt at adding a porch-esque lean-to constructed from a couple of rusted pipes and a corroded corrugated metal roof - Brad was loathe to stand under it in case it fell on him, but he had little choice if he wanted to try the door. 

There was a hopeless desolation to this place, and thinking of Ray living here made something in Brad's chest ache. 

He noticed a pile of mail sitting on the low stool that provided a step up into the trailer, some of it spilling off onto the ground where it was slowly becoming papier-mâché. Ray's name was on some of it but that wasn't reassuring given the size and state of the pile; Brad's hopes of having the wrong address dissolved. 

He knocked on the side of the trailer rather than the door itself because he didn't trust the thing not to fall out.

"Ray. It's Brad, open up." he called, waiting a moment for an answer which didn't come. He had just hoped that Ray would be home when he showed up and he wasn't looking forward to waiting around outside for him to come back. He tried knocking again, this time getting the door which didn't fall over but did give slightly; it wasn't locked. 

Brad spent a full three seconds considering his options before pulling the door open and cautiously sticking his head inside. "Ray?"

It wasn't the biggest trailer in the world; there was a small table and two bench seats to Brad's right, a little kitchen with sink, microwave and electric hob in front of him, a door to the left of that which had to be the bathroom, a small amount of storage space and then the bed taking up the space on the left. 

It was as run down on the inside as it looked on the outside: the lino on the kitchen floor was peeling up and torn in places; the little scrap of carpet under the dining area was nearly bald and an indiscriminate earth tone that may or may not have been its original colour; the veneer on all the surfaces was chipped and lifting and the plastic fixtures had yellowed with age; there were clear signs of damp and black mould in the corner of the ceiling and all that was left of the curtain that must have once divided the bed from the rest of the space was an old track and a couple of plastic hooks. 

Brad scoped this in less than a moment, his attention taken by the shape of what had to be Ray facing away from him and curled up on the bed. Brad felt discomfited; it was around one in the afternoon now and Ray was still asleep.

It wasn't like Ray to have slept through the knock on the door and Brad calling his name either, but then none of this was like Ray. His kitchen sink didn't have enough dishes in it to be considered piled, but what dishes there were had clearly been used and then left unwashed. Brad didn't need to catch the sour smell of rotting milk as he could see the old dregs of cereal curdled and turned green and yellow in the curve of the bowls. 

Ray might have been a locus of general chaos back at Mathilda and in the Humvee, but this degree of filth was unheard of.

There was a duffle bag left on one of the bench seats that was open but barely rifled through and, apart from the horror that was the kitchen sink, the countertop and the rest of the area was unsettlingly sterile; while Ray wasn't such a disaster that he'd leave weeks old cereal bowls in the sink, he was just enough of a one-man tornado that Brad would have expected some amount of clutter. 

The only other sign that Ray actually lived here was the thin blanket kicked off onto the floor by the bed, semi-covering a number of empty Froot Loops boxes, and a pair of jeans discarded beside it. Ray's attempt at eating like a normal person seemed to have given out after his dishes were dirtied, leaving him to turn to eating dry cereal out of the box.

Nothing here was good and whatever Brad had expected to see, this wasn't it.

He moved through the trailer carefully, and not just because he had to duck a little to avoid having his hair brush against the grotty ceiling, the floor groaning and creaking in protest under his feet. 

He leaned over Ray on the bed with a "Ray, get up you lazy, goat-fucking hick", prepared to shake him awake but startled to see Ray already looking back at him; he wasn't even asleep.

Ray somehow looked simultaneously as though he'd been awake for days but had been doing nothing but sleeping. His face was half-disguised by an untended beard and his hair had grown out from the short cut of the grooming standard, as far away from the rules Sixta had enforced as could be. 

He'd clearly just pulled his jeans off and curled into bed after whatever trip he'd made to acquire cereal, dressed as he was in some form of band t-shirt and boxers.

"Hey." Brad said, his voice soft now the way he'd been with Walt after the incident at the roadblock in Al Muwaffaqiyah. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but he could begin to guess.

Ray's only reaction was to blink at him after a moment, and even that movement looked like it took all the effort Ray had; Brad wasn't even sure Ray was really seeing him. Without the movement and energy and spark that Ray had showed on tour, even between doses of Ripped Fuel, Ray seemed diminished; he looked small in a way that surpassed his five-nine height and skinny frame, drained and faded.

Ray closed his eyes as Brad watched and when he opened them again he was staring ahead of himself once more, dull and vacant even beyond the way he'd looked in Ad Diwaniyah. Maybe that had been the start of it, this hollow absence of anything that kept Ray going; he'd left Pendleton without a word because things had started to fall apart inside him and now he'd just caved into himself.

Brad realised then that Ray had nothing left in him, and that whatever it was that Brad needed to hear would have to wait until Ray was in a place where his words could come back to him. 

He pulled back and stooped to swipe up the jeans from the floor, turning to push them into the duffle bag and zip it closed. He took some time to carefully wash the plates in the sink, dry them and stack them away, and took a moment to gather up the empty cereal boxes before taking the bin out. 

He gathered what was salvageable of the pile of mail and tucked that into the duffle too before hiking the bag up on his shoulder. With the place as tidy as he could make it, Brad turned to pick the blanket up from the floor.

He wrapped it around Ray as best he could before lifting him bodily from the bed with more gentleness than anyone might have expected from him, staggering a little off-balance as he misjudged the weight that should have been there but wasn’t. 

He may as well have been lifting a pile of laundry for all that Ray did to respond, although he was sure he wasn't imagining the way Ray's breath had hitched.

He stood for a moment in silence to let a brief, alien ache of helplessness wash over him before gathering himself and Ray both.

"Okay. Come on then." he said quietly, before carrying Ray out and away from all of this.


	2. Then The Devil Is Six

Brad set Ray down in the passenger seat of his car, still wrapped in the blanket. He had to reach over Ray to buckle him in when it became clear that Ray wasn't about to move to do it himself.

Brad had set Ray down in the passenger seat of his car still wrapped in the blanket. He had to reach over Ray to buckle him in when it became clear that Ray wasn't about to move to do it himself.

The first leg of the drive home was excruciating. Ray lay back against the seat with his head resting against the headrest like it would fall back if it wasn't supported for him. Brad might have thought Ray had fallen asleep if not for the fact that he caught sight of Ray blinking from time to time; it didn't look like he was actually registering anything that passed outside the window.

He still hadn't said a word.

The silence made Brad feel as though there was a stranger in the car beside him. One thought ran repeatedly through his head: 'This isn't Ray. This isn't Ray. This isn't Ray.'

Ray still hadn't fallen asleep when Brad decided to pull over at a motel again around 10 in the evening. It was easy enough to book a room with two beds for the night, easier than it was coaxing Ray out of the car and into the place; Ray was mostly unresponsive and Brad had to half-carry him into the room. 

He put Ray down on the bed closest to the window and had a brief moment of hope when Ray moved, but it was only to curl up on himself and return to that unfocused stare. 

Brad left the room to grab something to eat from the vending machine in the hall and pretended he wasn't hiding from his helplessness. He had to return to the room eventually and while no amount of cajoling could coax Ray into eating, Brad did manage to get him to drink. 

Ray was still, silent and despondent. Brad found himself missing the sounds of Ray's formerly habitual shifting at night. The only movements Ray made were soft jolts into wakefulness as he slept in fits and starts until eventually giving up and lying awake in the dark. 

Brad stayed awake well into the night, listening to Ray breathe.

Brad let them sleep in until 6am, picked up a couple of chocolate bars, chips and other vending machine food for the drive home, and then managed to get Ray walking somnambulist style back to the car.

It was a gruelling 16 hours of silence, the traffic actually a relief compared to Ray's continued quiet. He'd never felt so uneasy sitting in a vehicle beside Ray, if that's who this even was anymore.

‘This isn’t Ray. This isn’t Ray. This isn’t Ray.’

But that was unfair, because this _was_ Ray; just because he was silent and absent and Brad didn't recognise him at all didn't mean that it wasn't. 

This was worse than Ray's withdrawal towards the end of OIF and Brad found himself swinging between anger that Ray was being like this, different like this, and impotence because he didn't know what to do to bring him back; Brad realised that even now outside the AO, he couldn't be the Iceman if Ray wasn't being his RTO.

Brad pushed the speed limit all the way home but it was still nearly 10pm by the time Brad pulled into his driveway. 

Ray had actually fallen asleep at some point, although it made little difference. Brad came around to open the passenger door and crouch down by the seat, wondering if he'd have to carry Ray into the house.

"Hey. Ray." He said firmly, reaching out to shake Ray's shoulder, meaning to be casual but finding his grip extra gentle. Ray woke with a deep sigh and sat up slow, looking around with absolutely no interest in his surroundings and then back at Brad with empty eyes. There was a flicker of something there though, and then Ray finally spoke, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Brad?"

Brad smiled at seeing signs of life. "Yeah. Hi."

"Hi..." Ray responded, but it was more an echo than anything else. Ray looked drugged, sluggish and slow to respond and still nothing like himself.

Brad managed to coax him out of the car on his own two feet, pretending that he wasn't hovering in case Ray fell - which seemed likely - and pretending to be relieved that Ray didn't seem cognizant enough to argue about carrying his own bag. Brad would rather have had the argument.

It was dark now and the lights in Brad's house made Ray's neglected appearance stand out starkly. His facial hair was unstyled and unmanicured, only grown out because Ray hadn't been bothered to shave and home to a few Froot Loop crumbs. 

His hair had grown out fast and it was greasy, unwashed, even matted a little and pressed flat on one side of his head where he'd been lying on his side. It made Brad uncomfortable to think about how long Ray must have been lying there unmoving, wondering when it was that Ray had completely given up.

He reached out without thinking to brush his hand over the top of Ray's head, his fingers catching in a tangle even with that brief gesture. Ray didn't move and Brad withdrew his hand, feeling less uncomfortable about having reached out to touch than he thought he would.

"Come on. We'll take your bag upstairs, we'll get you a shower and I'll make us something to eat."

Ray followed Brad listlessly, and Brad hated that it was an improvement even if he was relieved to see it. He put Ray's bag down in the spare room and led him to the bathroom, turning the shower on for him. He went off and came back with a couple of clean towels to find Ray still standing there where Brad had left him, just staring into the steam rising from the shower.

"Maybe we should run you a bath instead." he commented softly, basically to himself. He wasn't sure Ray had actually heard anything he'd said since he'd left the car.

He plugged the bath and switched the water from the showerhead to the taps, turning to Ray and realising that he'd have to help him undress. 

It wasn't as awkward as it might have been to anyone who hadn't lived elbow to elbow among rowdy, sweaty, brazen Marines who only saw being nude in front of each other as an opportunity for pseudo-homoerotic obscenities, but there was a difference between that kind of communal living and Brad's instinct to be more gentle in the face of Ray's uncharacteristic fragility.

It was relatively easy to strip Ray of his t-shirt and all Ray did was tense a little as Brad worked his boxers down his skinny legs. It made Brad sick to realise that Ray didn't seem to have put on any weight since they'd come out of Iraq; they'd all been thin, half-starving from too long on one ration a day, and Ray had just compounded the problem with his abuse of Ripped Fuel to keep him going through 30 hour days and minimal sleep. 

Brad could see his ribs and the points of his hips, places on his body where it looked like bed sores were starting to develop. Ray shivered where he stood even as the heat from the bath filled the room.

"Sit down." Brad instructed Ray, directing him to sit on the closed toilet lid with one hand on Ray's elbow. Ray was looking at the ground and his eyes stayed trained down even as Brad tilted his head upwards. "Let's get you a shave." he murmured, rubbing a thumb against the bristly hair of Ray's chin; Ray never let it grow out like this.

Ray seemed to have shut down again and he didn't move as Brad got an electric razor ready, remained motionless but pliable as Brad sheared him efficiently, pausing only to turn the taps off once the bath had filled. He was reminded again of Iraq, the moustache growing contest and Sixta riding Pappy over his supposed breach of regulations.

Ray hadn't yet been on Ripped Fuel then, and his vitality and enthusiasm were purely organic, his sarcasm playful and not yet bitter. He still talked all the time, but Brad had figured out back in Afghanistan that a lot of his chatter was really there to galvanise and entertain everyone else when it wasn’t being ripped out of him by substance abuse. 

Through the push from Kuwait to Baghdad, Ray had been almost as much a victim at the mercy of his own flood of words as everyone else was, but, as irritating as he could sometimes be, it released the pressure that lay on the platoon like a pin in a balloon. His words had dried up as he had dried out and now it looked as though they'd never returned.

He wished he could say Ray looked better once he was clean-shaven, but it would be a lie if he did. The emaciation of his body was mirrored in the gaunt shadows in his face, his jaw and cheekbones sharper than Brad had ever seen them. He distracted himself from the ache caused at seeing Ray's bleak face by turning his attention to Ray's hair. He brushed his palm back and forth over the top of Ray's head, feeling the texture of knots and tangles even though he was barely using pressure.

"We should shave your head too. I don't think these are going to wash out all that easy."

There was no response again and he hadn't really been expecting one at this point. Brad turned Ray's head down and to the sides as he shaved away the greasy, unwashed mess his hair had become with smooth even strokes. He brushed the clippings from Ray's shoulders to the floor as he went and when he finished he rubbed his hand over the soft buzzcut of Ray's head to dislodge any strays.

It might have surprised anyone else to see Brad act so softly. It was true that it wasn't like Brad to be so tender, especially with Ray when Ray appreciated the way Brad didn't pull any punches with him despite their ridiculous difference in build. 

Some people had a tendency to see Ray as delicate because he was small and slim, but Brad had worked with him long enough to know that Ray was just as tough as the rest of the Recon Marines. Brad showed his affection with long, eloquent insults of everything from Ray's parentage to his appearance to his background, and for all that Brad wasn't dead inside he still tended to be brusque when it came to being emotionally vulnerable with anyone.

And despite all that, Brad had never treated Ray this carefully: maybe it was because Brad had realised he felt something for Ray that he'd only ever felt with his ex before; maybe it was because he'd just found out what Ray had gone through in Iraq; maybe it was simply that right now, Ray was more fractured than Brad had ever seen him and Brad was afraid that too much force would shatter him.

Brad bodily manoeuvred Ray into the bath and made sure he got in and sat down without slipping and breaking his neck. Ray seemed disinclined to make any move to bathe himself, so Brad started washing his hair for him. 

This felt a little more awkward than undressing and shaving Ray had, verging on intimate, and Brad found himself taking up Ray's usual role by speaking to fill the room made by the silence. He realised that this was how Ray must have felt in Iraq, this irresistible need to banish the space to think about what was happening.

"You look like a FNG." he tried with a vague chuckle, but it was a weak attempt at a joke when Ray really just looked like the ruins of the man he'd once been. 

For all that he was starved and unkempt, the listless emptiness in his eyes and the yawning dark circles below them were the most jarring; Brad had never seen anything like it, even in the midst of the worst sleep deprivation in Iraq. 

The precocious 19 year old he'd met in Afghanistan, all eagerness, nervous energy and quick wit had become lost somewhere, leaving this vague impression behind.

Brad finished washing Ray up, talking the entire time, and then ushered him into the guest room, sitting him down on the bed. He brought the towel that wasn't wrapped around Ray's hips through and left it on the bed, along with one of his own hoodies and the smallest pair of sweatpants he had as well as a pair of Ray's boxers from his duffle bag.

"Here, get changed. I'm going to make us something to eat."

It took Brad maybe twenty minutes to prep and heat up a can of soup, working on the assumption that Ray probably hadn't eaten anything that wasn't cereal, and that not for a while. Even canned soup would have more nourishment in it than more Froot Loops and it would hopefully be easy enough for Ray to manage. As he waited for the soup to cool off a little he wondered if there was any chance that Ray had managed to dry himself off and get changed in his absence.

He was in luck when he carried two cups of soup back up to the guest bedroom and found that Ray had changed, but he'd also curled up on the edge of the bed and fallen asleep. Brad considered waking him but thought better of it; even if Ray had been lying in bed for what was likely to be days, there wasn't much evidence that he'd been spending that time truly sleeping. 

He left one of the cups of soup on the beside drawer just in case Ray wanted it later and then, after a moment, folded one side of the blanket Ray was lying on to cover him over. 

It was very late and Brad had been driving for two days. He took himself to bed. 

\--

Ray mostly slept for the next two days, only waking when Brad bullied him into eating something before he fell asleep again. Brad was considering forcing Ray to get up and walk around, or maybe calling someone for advice when, on the third morning, Ray appeared at the kitchen door as Brad was eating breakfast. 

He still looked a little vacant but the fact that he was up and mobile at all could only be a good sign.

"Morning." Brad said, after a pause in which Ray stood swaying slightly on bare feet, blinking at the room. 

"Morning." he said back, his voice soft and as unfocused as the rest of him.  
Brad watched him for a beat longer before pushing out one of the chairs opposite the one he was sat on with his foot. 

Ray looked over at the sound of the legs dragging across the tiled floor and it seemed to take his brain a moment to realise he could sit. He moved like an old man, as though his body ached and hurt, making a slow collapse into the chair and leaning heavily on the table top. 

Brad was shaken again with the momentary idea that this wasn't really Ray, was in fact some changeling brought here while the real Ray cavorted and wreaked havoc with the fairies. 

"Want breakfast?" he asked instead, trying to study Ray without making it obvious he was doing so. 

Ray didn't really answer and Brad was up and getting some oatmeal ready without waiting for one anyway. "You've been asleep for two days." he informed over his shoulder as he cooked. "Sorry about your hair, but you had a small family of voles living in there and I don't think they were paying rent." 

Ray lifted a hand at that to rub against the fluffy bristles of his head like he hadn't noticed anything was different before Brad said anything.

"Thanks." he offered, and it was sad that just this little fragment made Brad hopeful, even if Ray still didn't sound entirely present. 

There was silence in the kitchen while Brad cooked, plated and then served the plain but honey-sweetened oatmeal in front of Ray, who took the spoon from the bowl and started to eat, albeit listlessly. Brad went back to his own breakfast and the silence between them stretched out, heavy and ringing.

Ray didn't manage the full bowl before he was putting his spoon down, defeated. 

"I'm sorry." he said eventually, then shrugging to Brad's unanswered question. "For... this. And making you..." he trailed off, the words that he could usually wield effortlessly now escaping him.

"You're not making me do anything." Brad said immediately. "It's okay, Ray." 

Ray shook his head and bowed it, running both hands over the top of it front to back in a gesture of frustration and anger. "Yeah, but it's not though." he gritted out, his voice both tense and hopeless.

Yeah, Brad knew it wasn't. He didn't quite know how to deal with this, a Ray who didn't seem like he could withstand Brad trying to insult him into a better mood, who seemed to have a crack running through all the parts of him that Brad knew. 

"I don't even know what's happening." Ray said again, tight and still angry but something helpless, anxious, unmoored under that. "I don't even know what's going on."

"You don't have to figure it out alone." Brad said, trying not to sound as though he was actually saying 'I'll look after you'; he wasn’t sure how well Ray would take that right now. "You can stay here until you get things sorted out." Ray made a disbelieving sound and Brad pressed, "We got through Iraq, right? We can get through this." 

Brad knew it was the wrong thing to say even as he was saying it. Ray barked out a single, sharp laugh but it sounded more like hysteria. Brad thought he'd be relieved to hear Ray laugh again, even once, but not like that, all broken and jagged and tearing into him on its way out. 

"We got through Iraq." Ray repeated, and he sounded scathing, bitter, all that vitriol aimed at himself. 

Silence fell again and it was charged and snarling around itself with Ray's despair and Brad's helplessness.

There was never going to be a good time for this, but Brad knew that if he kept on not asking what the issue was that Ray would eventually figure out that Brad actually already knew. Brad didn't know how Ray would react to that, but he could guess it wouldn't be pretty - he needed to tell Ray at some point and he didn't think he could keep it in much longer, not if he wanted to be in a position to help. 

"Ray. Ray." Brad waited until Ray was looking up at him, his face a strangers with grief. "I know." 

It was as though all the air had rushed out of the room. Ray looked confused for a brief moment, a moment in which Brad could almost recognise him again, and then his face drained of colour until he was ashen as Brad watched.

"What-" he stammered, as though he could talk the information back out of Brad's brain, deny it out of existence.

"I know what happened to you, back in Iraq. Manimal told me." 

\--

_Jacks had grown tired of the guns jamming all the time, of having to make do with some piss poor replacement for proper LSA, and of his team leader repeatedly asking Casey Kasem for supplies and getting nowhere. He was going to find the jumped up little shit and shake him upside down by his ankles until lube and batteries and everything else their teams needed fell out, Gunnery Sergeant or no._

_He stalked through the Humvees in the dark with a look in his eyes that discouraged any conversation; he was already angry about that idiot Trombley mowing down that shepherd kid and he was honestly looking for a fight. Griego might not have been the best person to pick one with, but there was at least the chance of getting some supplies out of him._

_He couldn't find their Ops Chief in his usual position at Schwetje's side, or anywhere near the command vehicle. He took the long way around to get back to his Humvee, detouring to the other side of a berm with vague thoughts of having an angry combat jack, which is where he found Griego._

_Found him with a hand gripped hard around the back of Ray's head, found Ray on his knees with his arms loose by his sides like a ragdoll while Casey Kasem fucked his throat. Over the wet, choked sounds coming from Ray was the smooth voice Griego was nicknamed for, low and disgusted even as he continued thrusting in._

_"You're fucking trash Ray. Not even good at this; come on. Running your little bitch mouth all the time, thought you'd be better at using it by now."_

_Jacks was transfixed for a moment, not believing what he saw. The next thing he knew he was standing over Griego who was lying on the ground trying to catch his breath from the sucker punch that had momentarily lifted him off his feet._

_"The fuck's going on?" he growled over the sound of Ray gasping for air and coughing behind him._

_"Corporal Jacks, I'll have you discharged for this!" Griego spat out, still taking half-breaths and cradling his midriff with one arm, his cock still exposed._

_"I don't think so._ Sir. _" he snarled with as much revulsion in the word as he could fit in. "Fucking abuse of your rank-"_

_"He's a filthy little faggot! He wanted it!"_

_Jacks turned a glance Ray's way to see him sitting slumped, empty-eyed and still breathing hectically. When he turned back to Griego he took a step towards the man, squaring up all six foot one of his huge frame over Griego's five foot nine._

_"Touch him again, I'll break your fucking neck." he said, low and even and sincere._

_He watched the Gunnery Sergeant pick himself up and stumble away into the dark before turning back to Ray again, taking a knee in front of him._

_"Hey, Ray. You okay man?" he asked, his tone completely different._

_Ray still looked shocky and blank, his chin a mess of saliva and worse._

_"Ray, c'mon, get up." Jacks tried, reaching out to take Ray's arm. The touch seemed to bring Ray back from wherever he'd gone; he drew in a deep breath like someone woken from a fast sleep and then he was looking back at Jacks with sheer panic._

_"You can't tell anyone!" he gasped, immediate and more forceful than Jacks expected. "Don't tell anyone."_

_"Ray, man, we can report this. You don't have to-"_

_“Report it? Report it. Why? What’ll that do? They’ll tell me I liked it and then DADT will get me kicked out.”_

_“Ray, I’ll tell them-“_

_"It's true." Ray said bluntly, but didn't give Jacks any time to process that incorrectly before he was off and speaking again, his words chopped up and running into the back of each other. "Not the... not that, I didn't, fuck, I didn't like that, I didn’t _want that_ , but no one, no one’s going to believe me, no one’s going to care if I say that because it's true, it’s true, I _am _a faggot and, I can't... please. I can't get kicked out. Anthony. Please. Just let me get the guys through Iraq. Please."_

_The use of his first name startled Jacks for a second - no one in the whole platoon called him that. He was surprised that Ray even knew it. Ray waited for his response, his eyes intense and intent._

_For all the latent homoeroticism in the Marines, Jacks had never actually considered that anyone he served with could be gay before; he supposed it made sense for there to be one or two._

_He honestly couldn’t have said how he might have felt about it if it had been presented to him as an abstract concept, but now he was faced with the human reality of it, and more than that, it was a friend._

_Ray was tiny and flippant, but he was clever and he’d struggled through BRC like the rest of them, made it through Afghanistan like the rest of them, made it to Corporal like the rest of their rank despite the disadvantages of his build. Jacks hadn’t met anyone with a mouth like him, but he hadn’t met anyone who had a brain that worked as fast before either._

_Griego had tried to break Ray with this secret part of him and despite all of it Ray was just asking Jacks to let him finish his job; not asking, but begging._

_Jacks should have snapped Griego’s neck when he’d had the chance._

_"I'm just glad you're not actually sticking your dick in farm animals." he joked, but it fell flat as Ray dry swallowed around a panic Jacks knew he’d never have to feel himself. "I won't tell anyone." he said, serious again. "I promise Ray."_

_Ray slumped forward with a shudder, hands planted in the sand and curling into fists, his head hung low. He looked defeated and relieved in the same shape and Jacks was uncomfortable seeing it._

_"Come on brother." he offered Ray a hand up._

_Ray picked up his cover and accepted the help, letting Jacks pull him up to his unsteady feet. He slowly wiped his chin off with the sleeve of his MOPP suit - it didn't do much good, but then his suit was so filthy that it wasn't noticeable - and then he just stopped still, like his batteries had run out._

_Jacks gave him a slight shake and he came back to himself again, settling his Kevlar back on his head and doing the strap._

_"Anthony. Thanks." he said, as quiet as Jacks had ever heard him._

_"It's nothing man." Jacks deliberately threw an arm over Ray's shoulders and walked him back over the berm._

\--

There was a tense moment when Brad's statement seemed to need the time to fall and settle like snow in Ray's mind, and then Ray exploded. 

He stood so fast that the chair not only fell onto its back but skidded across the tile a little, the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal spinning away and smashing into the wall as Ray cleared it from the table with one furious sweep of his arm. It looked like he might try to flip the table too, his hands white-knuckled against the lip before he just yelled, "Fuck!" and slammed his hands down on it.

He turned and paced and punched at the wall with another shouted expletive before coming to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, both hands covering his face. He trembled as he stood there; swamped in Brad's hoodie and sweatpants he looked tiny and lost. 

"Ray-" Brad said softly, his voice seeming to ring out like a shout in a church after that hurricane of action. 

"I told him not to." Ray interrupted, shattered but clear and Brad knew his trembling wasn't from tears but with rage. "Motherfucker, I told him not to tell anyone."

"Ray, I'm sorry."

That caught Ray's attention; he looked up at Brad with that anger still there, banked but not aimed at Brad. "What?"

"I'm sorry." Brad said again. "I should have... I should have seen something was wrong. Back then. I should have known." 

He'd been thinking about it since he'd heard what had happened from Jacks. He went back over those couple of days after Trombley had shot that kid and all he could remember was being preoccupied with the boy’s welfare, with worrying about his career given the incident and beating himself up over letting Trombley take the shot in the first place. 

He remembered trying to clear his mind by chipping away the sabkha that had collected on the bottom of the Humvee, ignoring what was outside his space as much as possible, just for a moment. 

He just couldn't remember anything that would have indicated something had happened. Ray had been unchanged, as far as he could remember: he'd been his usual mouthy self, chasing off the chaplain who was just another problem Brad didn’t have the energy to deal with. 

He remembered that Ray had still been singing, still making offensive jokes. There had been nothing, or at least nothing that Brad had seen. The guilt turned in his stomach, sickening him. 

"No, you- you wouldn't have noticed anything Brad." Ray said, sounding a little like he was retreating away from his anger and back into himself. "I tried to pretend it wasn't happening. I just-" he shrugged, loose shouldered. "-I put it somewhere else, in my head. Ignored it. The Ripped Fuel helped, while I had it. There was so much going on, it was easy to convince myself it wasn't happening." 

That didn't make Brad feel any better. If he was thinking objectively he would have told himself that Ray was as much a Recon Marine as he was, so of course he'd know how to hide from other Recon Marines. It was just that it was impossible to be objective when he was faced with Ray and what this had done to him. 

"Sometimes I wish I was back there." Ray said, suddenly. "Is that fucked up? I wish I was back in that warzone, getting shot at, driving you guys into fuck knows what because at least then, at least _then_ I couldn’t think about it. Like it was happening to someone I didn't know. Is that fucked up?"

Brad couldn't say anything. He wanted to get close and just, well, he wasn't sure. Bring Ray in? Just hold him until the tremors running through him stopped? 

Ray seemed to deflate with a long sigh. 

"I'm gonna go lie down." he said, sounding despondent and listless once again, his energy spent with his anger. 

"Okay." Brad watched as he left the kitchen and then set about clearing the broken bowl and splashed oatmeal, trying to keep his head clear.


	3. And If The Devil Is Six

Ray tried to sleep through the rest of the day but Brad wouldn't let him slip back into the tar of paralysis that came with severe depression. He bullied Ray awake and then into the shower. 

"Come on. There'll be clean clothes waiting for you when you get out. Do _not_ go back to bed Ray, I mean it. I'm not above pushing you back out of it." 

Ray had returned to the automaton-esque state he'd been in before, but something about Brad's nagging managed to get through the numb fog he was operating in. The little annoyed scoff he made shouldn't have lifted the weight from Brad's heart as much as it did, but then Brad was taking every victory against Ray's depression that he could get. 

He'd put the contents of Ray's duffle bag through the wash and had them in a folded stack on Ray's bed, adding some of his own old clothes as well, anything that he thought wouldn't just fall off Ray anyway. 

Brad's mind wandered back to what Ray had said earlier while he was putting lunch together. 

_'I tried to pretend it wasn't happening'_

_'It was easy to convince myself it wasn't happening'_

_'Like it was happening to someone I didn't know'_

'Wasn't happening' each time; 'happening'. Brad had a clear memory, suddenly, of Griego coming around peddling his combat stress expertise after they were lit up pushing through Al Gharraf; of Ray conveniently just up and disappearing, one minute there and the next minute gone. 

He remembered how antagonised Griego became when Brad or Nate would simply ask the man to do his job and supply them with the things they needed to get through an entire war, remembered him cursing and shouting about being blamed for the supply situation, that he’d ‘inherited that mess from some POG who fucked it all up'. All Brad had wanted were batteries. 

Had what happened really even been about Ray, or had it been more about getting back at Brad and Nate?

Ray's arrival shook Brad out of his thoughts and he turned around at the stovetop.

"Omelette?" he asked. It did something to his heart to see Ray choosing to dress in Brad's clothes again, another hoodie that almost hit his knees and a pair of jeans that would have hung baggy in every place even if Ray wasn't emaciated. Or, he'd hoped it had been a choice at least, and not just Ray grabbing the first thing that came to hand. 

Ray sat at the kitchen table with a shrug and Brad plated up in silence. He brought them over with the ketchup and sat watching Ray. Ray picked up his fork and poked at his omelette a little before sighing. 

"Shit man, I'm sorry about earlier. The bowl and shit..." he trailed off; he hadn't looked up once.

Brad chewed at the inside of his lip for a moment, mulling over his words before speaking.

"It's okay Ray. I'm just… I'm so fucking sorry." he put his fork down against the side of his plate, a look of defeat about him. "I keep thinking that if we, if Nate and I, hadn't wound Griego up so much, if I'd kept an eye on him-" he shook his head. 

Ray laughed, that horrible thin shadow of what his laugh used to be. "Brad. You think he... you think it was because he was pissed off at you and Nate?" He pushed his plate away from him and glared down at the table top like it had done him wrong. Brad let the silence ease out, waiting for Ray to say whatever he was wrestling with and trying not to hold his breath. 

Ray suddenly tapped the fingers of his left hand determinedly against the table as he made his decision and spoke. 

"I made an easy target because he found out I'm gay." 

It was bitter and tired and the fear of what Brad might think was almost completely hidden, would have been if Brad didn't know Ray as well as he did.   
His heart jumped in his chest when Ray literally came out to him, even if that made it clear that Ray actually didn’t have any idea how Brad felt about him after all, but he felt conflicted about finding hope in something that had been used to ruin Ray's life.

"My boyfriend sent me a 'Dear John' at Pendleton and he found it. He didn't start... it didn't start until we were in Kuwait, so I had nowhere to go. He said he'd get me kicked out if I didn't..." he huffed a laugh that was far from the definition of mirth. "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Brad. It fucked me." 

"Since fucking Kuwait? Since fucking Camp Mathilda, Ray?" Brad asked rhetorically, horrified. 

"Just before we helped Two-One Bravo with their Humvee." 

\--

_"What do you want?" Ray asked Griego, bristling, his hands curled into fists but ultimately aware that he was at a disadvantage._

_Casey Kasem smirked, dropping an armful of aerials, pipes and other miscellaneous parts to the ground. "You want everyone to find out you're a faggot, Corporal? You’d be fragged before we could get you discharged. Shit, half of them would probably try to fuck you first; of course, you'd probably like that."_

_"Fuck you." Ray spat, angry and aware he was trapped._

_"I don't think so Corporal. I think it’s more like I’ll be fucking_ you _."_

_Ray's stomach turned. "What the fuck?!"_

_Griego started opening his pants. "Get your fucking cammies down."_

_Ray's laugh was strangled with disbelief. "You have got to be fucking kidding me, asshole! You think I'm just gonna bend over for you?"_

_"Your team needs batteries, right? For the thermals? I know the Humvees need parts." he kicked at the pile of donkey dicks lying in the sand. "Be a good boy and bend over for me and maybe I'll give you the parts your unit needs. Or do you want them to go without?"_

_Ray was silent and it was obvious that Griego had him stuck. He might have sacrificed his career to stop this from happening but the man was threatening his team, the lives of the men he fought with. He couldn't let them suffer, not just for the sake of his own well-being._

_He unbuckled his belt and turned without a word, lowering his trousers and bracing himself against the side of the truck where they were hidden. He heard Griego spit messily a couple of times before the man was pressing up close behind him, his fingers curling cruelly around Ray's hips._

_Ray bit into his own forearm and then there was nothing but a pain that pushed him out of his own head._

_When he came back to himself his lower back was aching, the entire area between his hips pulsed and burned in agony and he felt something that could be blood or come seeping slow and disgusting down the inside of his thigh._

_"I've had better fucks." Griego said dismissively over the sound of doing his trousers back up. "Now pick that shit up and get the fuck out of here." he indicated the pile of aerial and car parts with his head before stalking away as though nothing had happened._

_It took Ray two tries to pull his pants up and then he re-fastened his belt pretending that his hands weren't shaking. He bent to pick up the parts but it just hurt and he stopped where he was, crouched in place as he trembled and waited for the pain to pass._

_He took deep breaths to shake off the hyperventilation that waited around the corner, using the things he'd learned in SERE training to claw himself back and try and put the whole incident away to be dealt with later._

_It took a while, but he was eventually able to gather the parts and stand again._

_He took another breath and then tried on a smile. He moved his jaw and tried again, then again until it felt more natural and less like a grimace before heading towards the place where Dirty Earl was working on Two-One Bravo's Humvee._

_He forced his stride to move from a limp to more of his usual gait as he went. By the time he was handing the parts over to Dirty, the only sign that anything had happened was his untucked shirt._

\--

"Jesus Christ, Ray." Brad swore softly, his mind connecting dots fast. He remembered Ray turning up with hoses to replace the rotten ones, Dirty Earl asking where Ray got the parts from, Ray making some throwaway comment about blowing an officer and Dirty suggesting a worker's uprising. 

It hadn't occurred to him for a moment that Ray had been serious; of course it hadn't. It was just more of Ray’s off-colour humour mixing in with the usual casual homoeroticism of shit-talking Marines.

But it had still been right there in front of him and he'd missed it. 

"Are you telling me… are you telling me that every time you popped up with batteries or-"

"-LSA." 

Brad shook his head. "No. No, the LT got us that, he scammed-"

"-scammed it off RCT-1, yeah. I told him to make something up so you didn't know where it came from. I dunno dude, I didn't… I couldn't cope with it. I just needed some time. Thought it was easier to give it to the LT and make him take the credit. He didn't want to, but-" Ray shrugged. "-I'm good at talking people into things, I guess." 

There was silence as their omelettes cooled in their plates on the table. The idea that all of this had been happening without his knowledge burned Brad. Okay, maybe Ray was right and he hadn’t been indirectly responsible for what had happened, but that didn’t erase the fact that he’d missed it entirely. 

Ray started picking at his food again, the way he was taking his time cutting little pieces off with the side of his fork before eating it a contrast to the way he’d basically bathe in anything he ate back in Iraq. 

“Are you okay?” 

Brad had been staring unseeing at Ray’s plate but he came back to himself when Ray spoke. It was ludicrous for Ray to ask him that when it should really be the other way around. 

Ray sounded hesitant, almost nervous, and something in Brad hurt. 

“I just can’t believe that I couldn’t see what was happening, Ray. I’m a fucking Recon Marine.”

“It’s not your fault-” Ray tried to interject, but Brad kept talking. 

“I was your fucking Team Leader and I missed it. We were in the same fucking Humvee for that whole fucking tour and I didn’t see anything.”

“Brad! You don’t get it! Until we got back, _I_ barely knew anything had happened. I didn’t even know it was happening _while it was happening_ sometimes Brad. Do you understand? He’d get me aside and then I’d suddenly be on my knees in the sand and… hurting… and I wouldn’t have known why if I didn’t remember the first time. I’d actually forget that my throat wasn’t just sore because of allergies and that it wasn’t just sand trying to drop me with walking pneumonia.”

“You dissociated?”

“I honestly don’t think I would have even been able to tell you what was going on if you had asked. And what if you had seen anything? You wouldn’t have known what you were seeing. Who even thinks about that kind of thing happening in the Marines? So stop. It wasn’t your fault.”

That might have soothed Brad’s guilt logically, but it did nothing for the way he actually felt. That and he was worried at the way Ray had been coping by dissociating so thoroughly and so often. 

Granted, he seemed to have done so at other times during OIF, but a lot of the guys seemed to deal with the senseless destruction around them by just ignoring it or acting as though it wasn’t happening: he’d been more upset about his MRE cookies concoction getting schwacked than the hamlet which had exploded just before that, for example. 

There was still a difference between wilfully ignoring chaos and genuinely blocking those events out of your memory though.

“We lost you for a while there, after the soccer stadium in that base south of Baghdad.” Brad recalled, still able to sound even and level. “Was that the same thing? The dissociation? That was a while after Jacks- after Al Gharraf.”

Ray seemed willing to talk about it a little, at least enough in order to help Brad. He nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. 

“It got harder to keep it away when the Ripped Fuel wore off, and I was drying out by then.” He seemed to know what Brad was really asking and shook his head again. “It stopped just before we assaulted the bridge at Al Muwaffaqiyah. When we stopped at that wadi to let the LAV’s try to push their way through?”

\--

_They were of a height but Griego was clenched with such rage that he managed to lift Ray by the collar of his MOPP far enough that his feet briefly left the ground before he was thrown down._

_A few minutes ago Ray had been drinking coffee with a couple of the guys, laughing about John Wayne Bobbitt and trying to avoid explaining racist military phonetic slang to Reporter; now this._

_He was almost too shocked to do anything and Griego had his pants open before Ray was able to speak._

_“Get on your knees.” Griego hissed, reaching down and dragging Ray up to a kneel, curling his fingers into Ray’s shoulder so hard that he’d have bruising there afterwards._

_Ray didn’t know that Griego was feeling surly and sore after being told off by Nate, after being let down by Schwetje, feeling the need to reassert his dominance over a victim who couldn’t do anything to resist._

_“Open your_ fucking _mouth.”_

_The fingers of Griego’s other hand dug into Ray’s jaw, enough that later on he’d have to explain away the marks by blaming the chin strap of his Kevlar._

_“You’re fucking lucky it’s too much trouble to get your MOPP off, fucking tear your ass up. You remember the first time, you useless little bitch, you remember-“_

_He went on and on, growling filth at Ray under his breath, tense like he was fighting with himself not to just hit him instead._

_Ray fell away from himself and came back when Griego was done and letting him go to drop down on the ground, stepping back and tucking himself away. Ray tasted blood in his mouth, bleeding from his gums or his throat or the soft inside of his cheek._

_“You want these, faggot, or are you gonna tell your pussy boyfriend on me?” Griego asked, waving a couple of boxes of batteries._

_Ray didn’t say anything and Griego flung them at him in disgust before stomping off._

_Ray sat where he was catching his breath._

_The rain started, soft and misty, there and not. Ray tipped his head back into it._

\--

“He didn’t touch me again after that.”

It took Brad a minute, but he remembered. 

“Jesus, the fucking PEQ-2 batteries. Ray.” It was good that he didn’t remember the jokes they’d made about pimping out Reporter’s girlfriend.

“It didn’t happen again after that, but things started getting…” Ray trailed off and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Shit just got more difficult.” 

It had, hadn’t it. Being pinned down in a kill zone at the bridge at Al Muwaffaqiyah, failing to push through the town, blowing up the only school there after driving past Jihad Central. 

Would things have been easier if Recon had been told they were just acting as the driving force at the tip of the spear for the rest of the Marines? Mattis wanted a presence zipping through the country from Kuwait right up to Baghdad and Recon had been that presence. Brad thought it would have been nice to be told that first, but then who cared what he thought?

He’d worried that something had broken in Walt after he shot the driver at the Al Muwaffaqiyah roadblock; it was a mistake anyone could have made, especially running on no sleep and with officers standing around discussing the threat of vehicles carrying suicide bombers.

His men were his responsibility and he’d been scared of losing Walt after that incident, but Ray had been there literally annoying Walt out of his head and back to the rest of them. Looking back, he could see that trying to buoy Walt up had disguised, or at least delayed, Ray’s increasingly subdued mood. 

They were all tired by then, relieved and frustrated both by what they’d believed to be the end of their part in the war, under-utilised and mismanaged the entire time but still participants at least. Even out of the hot, heavy MOPP suits they were still exhausted, thin despite the recent re-supply of rations, sleep patterns shot to hell and tired, so tired, tiredness ground right into their bones.

Ray’s manic, almost aggressive constant chatter had started to ebb away alongside his doses of Ripped Fuel until he was sleeping in the Humvee, missing their entry into Baghdad. 

Brad had noticed, but what could he do between Nate falling apart under pressure from Command, the cluster fuck that was trying to supply the residents with water and basic medical attention, the goddamned unexploded bombs in civilian areas. 

The situation had compressed him and he didn’t have room to think about anything else until they’d settled into camp at Ad Diwaniyah and he was able to come up for air, only to find that Ray had sunk down into himself, remote and mute. 

“And it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on Rudy.” Ray huffed something that Brad might have called a laugh if he didn’t know any better. “The poor guy; completely within his rights to beat the shit out of me after I attacked him and then feeling bad about it afterwards. Fruity Rudy.” He shook his head with fondness. 

Brad wondered if Ray was aware that Rudy knew what had happened to him. Brad should probably talk to Rudy about it before he told Ray, mostly because he didn’t really know how much Jacks had let slip, but also because he didn’t think Ray could handle hearing that at the moment. 

Ray deserved to know, but looking at him pushing the last of his omelette around with uncharacteristic lack of appetite, small in the oversized hoodie with the sleeves pushed up so as not to cover his hands, gaunt and shaved and tired, Brad just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

He’d call Rudy later.


	4. Then God Is Seven

Ray stayed awake after eating long enough to watch some mindless TV with Brad, mostly flipping through the music channels, before he fell asleep again. He’d sunk down on the couch and now he was out cold with his head resting low against Brad’s shoulder. 

He felt like nothing against Brad’s arm, non-weight, as though the only thing keeping him anchored was his clothing. Brad watched him sleep for a moment, his head turned just enough that he could look down and watch the rise and fall of Ray’s chest as he breathed evenly, the soft bristles of Ray’s newly shorn hair. 

The urge to tip his head down and do something - nose against Ray’s head? carefully press a kiss there? – was almost irresistible and Brad decided to move before he gave in. Nothing he’d learned had done anything to diminish the way he felt about Ray; if anything, his fierce loyalty to his team, the torture he’d agreed to go through to keep them supplied, just endeared him to Brad even more.

Ray would have scoffed to hear it, but Brad could see the makings of a good Sergeant in him, a good team leader. Brad was sure that Nate saw it too. It just hurt that Ray had been forced to go to that extent to reveal those qualities. 

As much as Brad felt like using the moment to show Ray how he felt, he knew that it was far from the right time to say anything.

He carefully shifted Ray to his other side with little more than a sleepy mumble from the man himself, propping him up against the couch arm on a nest of pillows before slowly standing up, not wanting to wake him.

Ray didn’t stir and Brad carefully drew the blanket hanging habitually on the back of the couch over him before utilising his Marine Recon skills to creep away unheard. 

He walked through the kitchen out onto the back porch and sighed, trying not to think too much about everything because he’d just end up overwhelmed. Ray had assured him it wasn’t his fault, but that guilt remained, and Brad knew it would stick there anyway; the sickness in his stomach told him as much. 

He was glad that Ray was eating a little more, was seemingly sleeping well but was beginning to stay awake a little longer, was generally better than he’d seemed when Brad had found him in the trailer park. He just hoped that the trend continued. 

He’d come outside once Ray was asleep for a reason, and that reason had left him a text message at some point yesterday.

_*Hey Brad. Sit-rep on Ray? Rudy.*_

Brad called Rudy rather than wasting time texting back and forth; that and he wanted to hear Rudy when he asked him what he knew about Ray’s situation.

The phone rang out four times before Rudy picked up, his usual smile in his voice. 

“Brad, hey brother, what’s going on?” 

“Hey Rudy, not much. You got a minute to talk?” 

“Sure thing.”

Talking to Rudy was easy, was usually easy; people might make fun of him for his hippy tendencies but they knew they could come to him with personal, private things and only receive help and love. 

It was awkward and uncomfortable for a lot of the guys with their macho posturing, but Brad often considered that it was Rudy’s emotional capacity that garnered respect, maybe even above his martial arts skills. 

He heard the sound of Rudy moving around, the quiet noises of a door closing and then Rudy was speaking again. 

“Did you manage to speak to Ray?” 

Brad sighed. “Yeah, I did. I tracked him to some broke down trailer park, brought him home. He’s staying with me right now.”

“That bad, huh?” 

“Rudy, man, you have no idea.” Brad ran fingers through his hair with his free hand, pacing a little. “He’s asleep all the time, he’s as skinny as he was in theatre. He only showers because I make him and he doesn’t eat properly-” he cut himself off, teetering between exasperation and the same wrenching feeling he’d had in Iraq when he had to confront the mother of the boy Trombley shot. “He’s not the same person he was.”

“He’s depressed.” Rudy more stated than asked.

“Yeah. And it’s bad. Fuck, he… when I found him it was like he hadn’t moved out of bed for days. There were cereal boxes on the floor and unwashed dishes in the sink.” He stopped a moment to calm himself. “Rudy. What did Jacks tell you about what happened to Ray in Iraq?” 

\--

_“Go to your little quiet place and chant, motherfucker.”_

_These supposedly last few days of their stay in Iraq were getting difficult. The Marines had nothing left to focus on; the whirl of activity and danger that had kept them together, kept them a unit, was winding out. The stability of some of the soldiers seemed to be unwinding with it._

_Patterson was one of the most level-headed, bomb-proof commanders around and even his attack on Schwetje wasn’t as surprising as Ray tackling Rudy. They’d been friends since Afghanistan, gambolling around together like a terrier and a Great Dane; Ray didn’t hero-worship Brad as much as he did Rudy, and Rudy was almost preternaturally patient with Ray and his constant teasing._

_Rudy knew it had just been a case of being the wrong person in front of Ray at the wrong time. The whole platoon knew that Ray had been hopped up on caffeine and Ripped Fuel for the entire invasion and his sudden silence told them he was in withdrawal. He’d even tried begging some ephedra off the other guys who used it, but by that point everyone had run dry._

_Some Marines experienced temporary psychosis due to stimulant overuse, and Rudy wasn’t sure if that explained Ray’s uncharacteristic rage or if it was simply the tension of the end of the invasion snapping back on him._

_His unique rants and constant chattering had kept the Marines cheered or angry or otherwise distracted from the dark parts of Iraq they moved through; the bodies of children, their impotence when trying to help people, all the death and disease and shattered civilisation around them. It made sense that Ray would crack after weeks of playing comic relief._

_For his part, Rudy had just been trying to hold it together since Pappy had been shot. He’d lost his Team Leader but he’d also lost his best friend and then he’d been tasked with taking Pappy’s place. He’d almost died, as Ray had pointed out, and seeing the lifeless bodies of little girls, the deaths his brothers had caused, it had all ground down his spirit._

_His skill as a martial artist, as a soldier, allowed him to talk about his diet, skin care, ‘chicken suit’, allowed him to show a certain level of softness that would have otherwise been jeered out of anyone else._

_It was easy to forget that Rudy was more than the gentle giant he appeared to be, but then it was unlikely that Ray was actually thinking before he’d launched himself at Rudy’s legs._

_Then again, Rudy hadn’t exactly been thinking when he’d put Ray in a leg lock and started punching the crap out of him. He loved all his brothers, he knew he could rely on any one of them to have his back; to have lost himself enough to have hurt one of them was unforgivable._

_“I’m alright, I’m alright my Manimal, I’m calm. Please, I need to apologise to Ray, I just need to say sorry.”_

_“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen Rudy. I don’t think Ray would wanna see you right now, even if Brad let you. You fucked up, man.”_

_Jacks had walked Rudy away to a more secluded area, sitting him down on a still-standing chunk of wall, gentle despite his anger. Rudy put his head in his hands, clearly distressed._

_“I know, brother, I know.”_

_“You could have really fucked him up, Rudy. You could fuck any of us up, you know that; you have to be careful with all that muscle.”_

_Jacks was surprised and a little panicked to see Rudy wiping unwanted tears from his sweat-damp face. He was never very good with open displays of emotion, even before he’d become a Marine, and it drained most of his anger._

_“C’mon Rudy, man. Ray wasn’t hurt too bad. He knows you didn’t mean it. Hell, he’ll probably apologise to you later, he’s the one who tackled you first. From behind. And Ray, he’s all fucked up man. Coming off the Ripped Fuel and all the shit that went down with Casey Kasem. He knows you didn’t mean it.”_

_Jacks heard what he’d said about three seconds after he’d said it._

_“What shit with Casey Kasem?”_

_Jacks ran a hand over his head, blowing air, knowing he’d fucked up. He could wave it off as something innocuous, a simple fight or something, but in truth, he wanted to tell Rudy. Maybe that’s why it had slipped out; he needed to tell someone. The secret Ray had asked him to keep lay like a hot stone in his mouth; it was heavy and he knew, out of anyone, that Rudy would be able to share the weight._

_He quietly apologised to Ray in his head and then told Rudy the whole thing. What he’d come upon, what he’d heard, how he’d punched Griego and how Ray was disconnected and vacant afterwards._

_“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s just hard, y’know, going around with that in your head on top of- everything else.” And it hadn’t even happened to him._

_Rudy’s expression was solemn but his sore knuckles were white, his hands curled into angry fists._

_“He doesn’t want anyone else to know.” Jacks said, speaking quickly before Rudy decided to go on a hunt. “I shouldn’t even have told you. You have to pretend you didn’t hear anything about it Rudy. You can’t say anything about this to Ray.”_

_Rudy sighed, more of a growl, and then sat up. “This whole place is fucked up.” Jacks watched him, patient but uneasy until Rudy agreed. “I won’t mention it to him. Not unless he brings it up first. Fucking Casey Kasem.”_

_“Fucking Casey Kasem.” Jacks agreed._

_“What are we gonna do about that?”_

_“What can we do?” Jacks asked. “Apart from seeing that Casey Kasem has an accident.”_

_It was unlike Rudy to be violent, but he wasn’t disagreeing. “We’ll see. We’ve still got to make our way back stateside. Anything could happen.”_

_“Karma?”_

_Rudy shrugged with one shoulder but didn’t say anything against the matter. “I assume Brad knows.” He added after a beat._

_“I dunno man, I guess? I’d be surprised if Ray hasn’t told him.”_

_“Well… Brad must be dealing with it. All we can do is keep this secret like Ray wants and… see what happens.”_

\--

“I’m sorry Brad. We assumed Ray would tell you.” 

“No. He didn’t. He didn’t tell me anything.” 

Rudy caught the self-recrimination that remained in Brad’s voice. “Hey, Brad. It wasn’t your fault brother. Ray didn’t want anyone to know and Jacks only told me accidentally.” 

Brad said nothing.

“Brad, beating yourself up about this isn’t going to help Ray.”

“I know. He told me, he already told me it wasn’t my fault. But I’m his team leader. I’m his team leader and I had no idea.” He swallowed hard and then, quieter. ”I’m his friend and I didn’t know.” 

“But you know now.” Rudy pointed out. “And I’m sure Ray’s already absolved you.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Brad’s silence was answer enough anyway. 

“You have to push through that guilt if you want to help Ray, Brad. You _are_ his friend. And he talked to you. He trusts you, and for a reason, Brad. You’ve just got to… help him through it.” 

Brad was silent again, a little unnerved by the responsibility he had on his shoulders. It was almost laughable – he’d been responsible for his own team of men since he’d made Sergeant in Afghanistan, had to guide them through dangerous country and bring them all home safe; it hadn’t been easy, but he’d still pick that situation over this one.

“You could talk to the VA?” Rudy suggested, but Brad cut that idea off before he’d finished the sentence.

“You know he won’t talk to them, especially not right now. He might want to later, but I really doubt it. If we went down that path we’d probably be looking at going private, but I don’t think he’s ready to do that yet. He’s barely talked to me about it.” 

“And Manimal only knows about it because he witnessed it.” There was a brief pause. “And Ray doesn’t know that Manimal told me, does he.” That wasn’t a question either. 

“I’m going to tell him. It’s not fair to him otherwise. He deserves to know.” 

“Yeah man, of course. He can talk to me if he wants to. Tell him he can call me, if he’s angry. Or if he just wants to talk. And hey, Brad. You can talk to me too, brother. We all care about Ray; you’re not in this alone.” 

Brad had to end the call fast before he did something stupid like cry.

\--

Brad was going to give Ray some time before telling him that Rudy knew. As the days passed, Ray had been oscillating between being unable to get out of bed and spending time watching TV with Brad like everything was normal. 

He’d legitimately scared Brad at one point when he wandered into the living room looking vague and announced that he didn’t know where he was or why he was there.

Brad had experienced a freezing kind of terror that he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d been confronted with the business end of a gun; he wasn’t bad with feelings, but he was discovering that Ray made him irrational. 

Ray didn’t seem scared about his complete displacement, just detached. Numb. Brad tentatively reminded him that he was staying at Brad’s house and that he was ill. He didn’t tell Ray what was wrong with him or why, and Ray didn’t seem to care; he just sat on Brad’s sofa and stared at the TV even though it was switched off. 

Brad escaped into the kitchen and in the time it took him to come back with a glass of water, Ray had come back to himself. 

He gave Brad a smile that, because the last few minutes had to be a blank space to Ray, was blatantly an attempt to pretend that nothing strange had just happened, unaware that Brad already knew.

It wasn’t the last time Ray drifted away from himself or just lost time, but he spent less time lying in bed almost catatonic too. Brad wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not, but he was going to take it as one; he’d take all the wins he could get. 

They hadn’t talked any further about what had happened, as though Ray thought ignoring it would mean it never had. Sometimes Brad wondered if Ray had honestly forgotten he was even using the coping mechanism he’d developed in Iraq. 

But then it hadn’t really been a coping mechanism, had it? Locking things away hadn’t done anything to help beyond dropping Ray into paralyzation; okay, his experiences couldn’t hurt him there, but he couldn’t move forward either.

Brad waited for Ray to have some good days – or not-bad days at least – before broaching the topic with him.

He waited until the evening after they’d eaten with Ray lying relaxed on the sofa beside Brad, lazily watching trash TV and considering going to bed. Brad sat up to turn the volume down and tried to find his legendary cool for this conversation. 

“Hey, Ray?” 

“Hey, Brad?” Ray echoed with a teasing smile on his face, although he looked a little curious and just a little anxious. 

That had come along with the depression, a thin wire of worry like a snare that hadn’t run through Ray until OIF. It tended to be triggered by uncertain situations and any change in his routine; it was as though he was already filled with so much stress that it took very little to tip him over the edge. 

When Brad saw these jarring signs of how different Ray was now it was like he’d stepped on a mine, suddenly and violently flooded with a feral rage against Griego. The man had abused his authority and used the team against Ray to crack his self-confidence, his vitality, his sense of worth; to exorcise his spirit.

Brad wanted the Gunnery Sergeant crushed. He wondered if he should discuss that with Ray too, if Ray would even be able to handle it. 

“Hey, Ray.” Brad said again with a voice of dry patience. “I’ve got to tell you something, about Rudy.” 

Brad kept talking because he could almost hear Ray’s blood pressure shoot up along with his heart rate. 

“He knows too.” Ray didn’t react and Brad pushed on. “Manimal told him by accident, after the football match at Ad Diwaniyah; Rudy said that Manimal was telling him off and it just slipped out. He only knows what Jacks knows.” 

Ray had gone white and he still hadn’t responded but Brad could only be thankful that Ray still seemed to be present. 

“They haven’t told anyone. They thought you’d already told me, back in theatre. They thought I was helping you with it.” There was silence between them again and Brad was feeling increasingly uncomfortable due to his growing worry. He felt a sudden sympathy for Ray’s desire to be back in the AO. “Rudy said you could call him. If you’re angry or if you just want to talk.” 

He didn’t think it was a good time to bring up revenge against Casey Kasem after all. 

Ray was quiet for so long that Brad wasn’t sure that Ray had understood what he’d said. He was about to reach out when Ray suddenly stood up.

“I can’t- I can’t do this.” 

Brad followed suit, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to bed.” 

Brad followed Ray up the stairs; Ray didn’t seem to notice. He still habitually dressed in Brad’s clothes, and Brad didn’t know if that was because he couldn’t stand his own few clothes or just felt more comfortable in Brad’s stuff. It never stopped making Brad’s heart kick each time he saw it. 

Ray didn’t even take his hoodie off as he eased himself down into bed, pulling the covers around himself and curling up on his side in the foetal position.

Brad could see that Ray wasn’t even trying to sleep, that he hadn’t even closed his eyes, but he wasn’t acting like he’d disconnected from himself again. This despairing behaviour and muted reaction made Brad suddenly very uneasy.

He’d learned enough through his military career to listen to his gut instinct, those inexplicable feelings of warning; it had saved his life on a number of occasions. Those instincts were currently telling him that if he left Ray alone tonight, Ray would do something terminal.

He left to his room for a moment, feeling on edge all the way, and returned to the guest room dressed in the boxers and t-shirt that were his pyjamas.

“Ray?” he called, his voice somewhat hushed. 

When Ray didn’t respond, he gingerly got onto the bed from the other side and lay down on top of the covers, facing Ray’s back and intentionally leaving space between them.

Ray was still trying his best to be asleep, but his body was tense and his breathing shallow enough that he could only be awake. 

“It’s just me Ray, just Brad.” He said to Ray’s back in a soft, steady voice, even if Ray was pretending not to listen. “I’ll stand watch. Go to sleep.” 

There was nothing to watch for, but the reassurance seemed to penetrate whatever fog Ray was in. It took a while, but eventually Brad felt Ray’s body relax into the mattress and then heard the deep steady pulls of his breathing as he slept. 

Brad stayed awake. He was a Marine, used to pulling all-nighters and working 30 hour days when he had to; it was worth it to stop Ray doing something fatal during the night.

He’d fallen into a light half-doze that allowed him to stay aware without falling completely asleep, so he woke immediately when he felt Ray shift. 

Brad could hear that Ray’s breathing had picked up, coming in short, fast, punctuated bursts. He was twitching in his sleep, his arm lifting in half-aborted movements, his body flinching back. 

Brad watched him move restlessly in bed until Ray started making choked gagging sounds and kicking one leg out like something caught in a snare. 

“Ray, wake up.” Brad said shortly, reaching over and taking hold of Ray’s arm, shaking him firmly a couple of times much like he had when waking Ray from sleep in the Humvee; he didn’t know what else to do. 

Ray responded by abruptly sitting upright and gasping, wincing away from Brad’s hand on his arm. Brad let go of him immediately and held himself back, watching Ray’s chest struggling to get air. 

“Just a dream, Ray, it was just a bad dream. You’re okay, it was just a bad dream.” 

Ray turned his head to look at Brad, his eyes wide and frantic as he panted laboriously. Brad kept his distance and kept up a constant patter of sound, trying to bring Ray all the way awake. 

Ray’s hectic breathing slowly evened out and as the panic bled out from his eyes, Ray bowed his head into his hands and pulled his knees up towards his chest. 

Brad’s hand hovered like he was about to put it against Ray’s shoulder, terrified that Ray was going to start crying because he just didn’t know how he’d deal with that. 

Ray just sighed into his hands and then rubbed them over his face, through his hair and then back down into his lap. 

“Sorry.” He said eventually, his voice hoarse and listless.

“Not your fault.” Brad assured, tense like Ray was an unstable grenade.

Ray was quiet and Brad hoped that he hadn’t forgotten what they’d talked about; it happened sometimes when Ray struggled with staying present. 

“Oh, I fucking _hate_ this.” Ray growled, his hands, shaking with rage, curling into fists. 

“Hey.” Brad said softly, attempting comfort. 

It had been easier for Brad to be open and affectionate with people before he’d signed up, before his fiancée had dumped him for his best friend. He’d been comfortable stroking her hair, touching for no other reason than to connect with her, holding her easy and natural. 

She’d wounded him deep and his best friend had salted that earth on top of it. Every time he saw them it felt like they were pushing fingers into old injuries.

Being a Marine made him grow a shell of detachment, a distance from the more emotionally expressive side of himself; he saw it in every Marine to some extent.

As usual, Rudy was the exception to the rule and more comfortable showing tenderness towards his brothers. Then again, he was built like a brick wall and had trophies for his martial arts, so he could pretty much do anything he liked and still get respect. 

As much as Brad was drawn to Ray, he struggled to show his affection. He was rusty at all of this and Ray was maybe even worse than he was, hiding behind humour and words. If he wanted to do anything with Ray, even platonically, he’d have to be the one to put himself out there. He was all that Ray had right now.

He gingerly reached out and put a hand over Ray’s clenched ones, running his thumb against Ray’s knuckles just once. 

He’d been physically closer to Ray when they’d all been in each other’s pockets in Afghanistan and Iraq – the military left little room for modesty - but he’d never been this intimate. He was actually afraid of Ray’s reaction, but he couldn’t hold himself back.

There was a beat of tension, nothing like the tightness running through Ray’s body, but then those taut lines softened out and Ray’s fist uncurled under Brad’s hand.

“You’re okay, Ray.” Brad said before correcting himself at Ray’s tired, sceptical look. “You’ll be okay.” 

Ray didn’t shake Brad’s hand off, which was a better reaction than Brad had anticipated.

Exhaustion visibly rushed over Ray in a wave and he moved to lie down, breaking contact between Brad’s hand and his. He was lying closer to Brad than he had been before, curled up again but facing Brad this time. 

Brad took the opportunity of being released to similarly lie back down, half on his side to face Ray without crowding him.

Ray didn’t make eye contact, but the distant look that had taken up residence in his eyes receded back a little in favour of plain old weariness. His gaze was pointed somewhere around Brad’s chest and he struggled to keep his eyes open. 

But he held his hand back out after a moment, fingers curled loosely. Before he’d completely fallen asleep, Brad reached back and held on.


	5. This Monkey's Gone To Heaven

Brad had woken the next morning with a brief flare of panic when he realised he’d lost his grip on Ray’s hand.

Ray had still been there lying beside him though, turned over to his other side and away from Brad but with one of his hands still outstretched and waiting to be held, palm up like it missed Brad’s hand against it.

Ray had seemed unhappy in his sleep and it seemed like that was the start of a recurring set of nightmares. If it was frustrating for Brad to see Ray finally start settling into some semblance of a sleep pattern only to be tormented with night terrors, he had no idea what it must be like for Ray.

Ray had started looking tired again but haunted on top of that. Brad could see that going to bed was difficult for him, even though he forced himself to do so every night. 

Brad had begun sleeping in Ray’s bed since that night too, and while he wasn’t sure that Ray would have said anything if Brad was bothering him, he still held his hand out in the night to be held.

Brad was pretty sure he was helping in some way, even if only because there was someone that Ray trusted there to remind him of reality every time he woke from another bad dream.

They carried on with this new normal for the next week or so before Ray finally approached the topic. 

“Hey, homes, you know you don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed before they climbed into it, his eyes trained on the quilt. “You must miss your own bed.”

Brad was a little perplexed. “Do you want me to let you sleep alone?” he asked, and Ray’s wince showed that he didn’t. “Hey, it’s not a problem for me to sleep here. The bed’s comfy enough.” He tried to force some levity into the space by bouncing the bed a little bit.

The corner of Ray’s mouth curved up in a small smile, but it melted away as soon as it had come. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I’ll be okay.” 

It was weak but Brad knew Ray meant what he was saying. He wasn’t having it though. 

“I’m aware I don’t have to, Ray, I want to.” It lay in wait in his mouth, ‘You mean a lot to me’ but Brad couldn’t get the words out. Brave as he was in the midst of a kill zone, when it came to this he was afraid. “I know you sleep better if I’m here.” 

Ray traced the subtle pattern on the bedspread with his finger. “You don’t care that you’re sleeping next to a faggot?” He asked, with no small amount of self-disgust in his voice. 

It made Brad angry. “Don’t say that.” He nearly snapped. 

“Why not? It’s true.” Ray said back almost as sharp. 

“Because it’s a slur, Ray. You don’t… being gay isn’t something to be ashamed of.” 

Ray said nothing; he drew one foot up onto the bed and hugged his knee to his chest, an instinctive move to protect himself. Brad had the feeling he’d at least come close to what Ray was thinking. 

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Brad continued, his voice quiet with sincerity and the way it ached to know what Ray thought of himself. “You’re still the guy who led a whole platoon through Iraq on no sleep and too much Ripped Fuel. You’re still a fucking excellent Marine, Ray, this doesn’t change anything about that. And hey; I get why you didn’t want to come out to anyone, but I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry it was under such shitty conditions, but I’m still glad.”

Ray rubbed his face and if he was a little glassy eyed, Brad wasn’t telling. 

“Anyway. I’m bi. So.” Brad didn’t think he’d ever sounded so awkward in his life. 

Ray lifted his head and just stared at Brad, first in shock then in suspicion. Brad just let him look, trying to convey that he’d meant what he’d said. 

“You mean that don’t you.” Ray said eventually. 

Brad shrugged. “I knew I liked guys since I was in high school, but I had-” Yeah, he wasn’t going to say her name and Ray would know who he meant. “And then after the engagement broke off I was free to… explore that part of me. I never had anything serious with a guy, but I felt like I could have done. If things were different.” 

“DADT man. It screws you over every time.” Ray said bitterly. 

“I would have said something to you otherwise, Ray.” Brad said honestly. “Out of anyone, you’re the person I would have told” 

“Thanks homes.” Ray said, after a moment. “Hey, I guess you just did.” He pointed out with a smile that was the closest to the old Ray’s that Brad had seen yet.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I did.” Brad said, amused. “So you, uh, you’ve never liked girls?” he asked, uncharacteristically hesitant, although maybe not so uncharacteristic when personal information was involved. 

Ray shook his head, matter of fact.

“And all that stuff in Iraq about your girl at home?” 

“Hey, you talk about pussy enough no one’s going to question otherwise. That and no one actually expects anyone in Recon to be gay. Not even Fruity Rudy.” 

Brad huffed a laugh. He was curious though. “So, you’ve had boyfriends then?” He must have to have received a ‘Dear John’.

Ray looked a bit sheepish, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, like. Just two.” He confessed, visibly surprising Brad. “Just some guy when I was 16 and in high school for like two months, and then my last boyfriend when I was around 18.” 

It reminded Brad that Ray was only 22 – or was it 23 now – and of course he didn’t have a lot of experience dating considering that a good chunk of his life had been taken up by training for Recon and then deployments around the world. 

He supposed that, like his situation, being in the Marines didn’t make for an active dating life if you were gay.

“He was a former Marine, had a medical discharge. I met him at some mixer for new recruits after I signed up. God, it was difficult trying to find out if he was checking me out because he liked me or checking me out because he wanted to stop me running my mouth.” He chuckled. 

Even though he’d felt the same impulse on more than one occasion, Brad wasn’t amused.

“But yeah, he was more upfront about it than I felt I could be. Just asked me out after the party wound down. It was cool, you know, this older dude who wanted me, who had all these stories about being in the Marines. Then there was the whole thing where he was gay but had still served. I thought that if he had been able to do it, I had a chance of doing it too.”

“You did.” Brad pointed out, and Ray gave a laugh that was a little sombre, remembering what he’d had to do to keep his secret. 

“Yeah…” He continued, subdued. “Anyway, something changed before Iraq, or even after Afghanistan. I think he was probably cheating on me, but I didn’t want to look too hard in case it was true. His Dear John said I’d ‘grown in a direction he couldn’t follow’, whatever the fuck that means. 

“I’m sorry, Ray.” Brad offered and it made Ray smile back at him. 

“Thanks Brad.” 

Brad hated that Ray’s boyfriend had dumped him only for that letter to be used against him so disgustingly by Griego. He’d seen what had happened when Ray had nothing to come home to. 

Except his mom.

“Hey, what about your mom? Does she know you’re gay? Did she know about your boyfriend?” He remembered too late the stony look on her face as she’d closed the door on him, the condemnation of her actions by the neighbour. 

Ray ran his hand through his hair and to Brad it looked like a big, glaring signal of distress. He wanted to abort mission but the missiles were already in the air.

“Yeah, she, uhm. I told her. I came home and I told her like, the day after I got back. I didn’t tell her about my boyfriend or, or any of the shit that had happened in Iraq. She, yeah. So she kicked me out. Doesn’t wanna see me again.” 

There was a moment where Brad just watched Ray breathe shakily; Ray covered his face with his hands and the next minute he was crying. They were great shuddering sobs that sounded like they were going to rattle him apart.

Brad was paralysed by shock and impotence both. He hadn’t seen Ray cry once in the time he’d been with him. Not when he’d spoken about what Jacks had seen, or what had been happening throughout the invasion, or about the fact that Rudy knew too. He hadn’t woken from his godawful nightmares crying. 

He’d held it together with anger or exhaustion all the way through, but this, this rejection by his mother, who he’d been so close to, this was breaking him. 

Ray hiccupped, choking on sobs, and it was horrifying to see him so vulnerable and raw, so utterly wounded. 

Brad reached out one hand tentatively to rest against Ray’s shoulder. When nothing exploded, he slid his hand across Ray’s back to his other shoulder and then slowly pulled Ray in towards his body. 

Ray turned a little and curled himself against Brad, and as much as Brad thought it would feel awkward, it didn’t. He found it easy to relax against Ray; he rubbed his hand up and down Ray’s arm soothingly and the motion was smooth and natural. 

Ray was shaking against him, trembling worse than the time back in Iraq when he’d been burned by the exploding cook stove. Brad remembered that he’d felt an urge to do this then, regardless of the water running from the dripping wet towel the others had pressed up against Ray’s face.

Nothing was holding him back now though, so he reached over with his other hand and fully enveloped Ray in a hug, holding him close and resting his chin against Ray’s head. 

He let Ray cry it out without a word, rubbing Ray’s back and arm from time to time, just trying out being there for someone else and finding it wasn’t as scary as he’d thought. 

Ray’s sobs gradually dialled down to whimpers and then hiccups until he was lying against Brad’s side a little breathless and wet-faced. He rubbed at his cheeks, red from exertion and embarrassment both. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. God, fuck.” He stammered an apology, but he didn’t seem keen on moving from where he was. 

If that was because he was comfortable or because he didn’t have to look Brad in the eye from that angle, Brad wasn’t sure.

“It’s okay, Ray.” Brad assured, not moving away himself. He felt a little accomplished, pleased that he’d managed to do this, grateful that he was able to be there for Ray. “Hey, you know you can stay here as long as you want.”

Ray scrubbed his arm across his eyes. “I’ve already stayed here for-” he wasn’t sure. “-too long.”

“I don’t think you have.” Brad disagreed. “And I’m not sending you back to live in that mould-infested, damp sponge of a rusted tin can. You’ve already got enough problems without adding tetanus to the list.” 

Ray huffed a laugh and it wasn’t anything like his usual ones, but it was welcome. He still hadn’t pulled away from Brad, and Brad hadn’t dropped his arms from around Ray. 

The silence between them remained easy and comfortable even though everything about it would have been awkward and tense with anyone else. 

Brad turned his head a little so that his cheek was resting against Ray’s fuzzy hair. “Ray.”

“Hm?”

“You know you can stay here.” 

“Yeah, thanks Brad.” Ray said, sounding a little confused and maybe a little worried to hear Brad repeat himself. 

“No, I mean… you can stay here. Like, you can move in with me, if you want.” 

Ray stilled and Brad’s heart stopped for a beat before Ray pulled back a little, just enough that he could see Brad’s face; he didn’t look like he was about to deck Brad, but he did look a little like he thought Brad was a live grenade. 

“What?” he asked helpfully.   
Of all the times for Ray’s quick and clever brain to stall. 

“Ray.” Brad licked his lips briefly, nervous, and Ray’s eyes went to his mouth. “Ray. I’d never kick you out. And if I was your boyfriend I’d never give you up.”

“Brad?” 

Brad leaned his head in, stopped to let Ray pull away if he wanted to. Ray’s eyes went from Brad’s eyes and back to his mouth, back up to his eyes again. He looked nervous but not afraid. 

Brad slowly closed the distance, was allowed to close the distance, and pressed his mouth to Ray’s; it felt like a long moment before he pulled back but it was just a moment. There was no tongue, no open mouths; just that, just a gentle press like holding hands. 

Ray’s eyes were enormous like Brad had never seen them. Brad felt his heart race in gulping thuds in his chest in a way it never had in Iraq; in that suspended moment of time he’d never felt more scared in his life. 

“Brad, I can’t-” Ray swallowed and Brad felt his heart in the back of his teeth. “-I can’t do anything more than…”

It wasn’t a rejection. 

“Hey, that wasn’t… I’ll never do anything you don’t want to, and nothing has to happen.” Brad said, with an odd, dizzy, almost drunk feeling like he wasn’t sure this was actually happening. “You don’t have to do anything to stay here. You can still stay here as long as you want and I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Ray was looking at him like he was speaking Farsi. “Brad, is this, is this just because-“ 

Ray couldn’t finish what he was saying but Brad got it anyway; he always did. 

“This is nothing to do with that. Nothing apart from what you’re comfortable with or where your limits are. Fuck, Ray, you have to know… you know I’ve felt something for you since Afghanistan, right?” 

Ray’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, although it could also have been utter shock. “Are you fucking serious?!”

Brad shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “I couldn’t say anything while you were still my subordinate. I thought you knew though. Sometimes I thought something might happen between us, but it never did.” Brad looked down, away from Ray, feeling too exposed to look him in the eye. “You know it’s hard for me to talk about this kind of shit. “

There was a moment of agonising silence and then- “I know; you’ve always been a little bit constipated when it comes to feeling things.” 

Ray’s humour punctured the tense feeling between them and Brad laughed, trying to bring them back to the dynamic they were used to. 

Ray sat back from Brad with a sigh that deflated him, leaned back out of Brad’s arms, and Brad was left uncomfortable by how cold he felt without him. He looked up at Brad and as much as it made Brad squirm he let Ray stare. 

He didn’t know what it was Ray was looking for, but he’d apparently found it when it released a tension that Brad hadn’t realised was in him.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy, right? Whatever this is gonna be between us. I don’t want it to be, but it might be… difficult.” 

“Were you ever _not_ difficult?” Brad teased with a playfully sardonic half-grin, a little worried that it wouldn’t be taken well – it had just slipped out, instinctive the way their banter had always been. He was happy to see Ray smile back. 

“It’s okay.” Brad added, serious again. “It’s whatever you want. I meant it when I said nothing has to happen, and I mean it when I say I’ll never do anything you don’t want. I’ll always care about you, as a friend or as more than that; that’s not gonna change.” 

And to think he was scared of just giving Ray a hug before now. It was easier to talk through how he felt when he knew that Ray needed to hear it plain and honest like that. He wasn’t about to skirt around his feelings or his intentions and fuck things up for them. Fuck things up for Ray. 

Ray hesitated but then reached out and slipped his hand into Brad’s. “If you’re sure I’m worth it.” He said quietly, insecure like Brad had never heard him and never wanted to hear again. 

“Yeah, Ray. You’ve always been worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re: Griego: I had to choose an officer in keeping with the summary, so that narrowed my choices down a bit. I thought that despite his hysterics, Captain America was still too much of a soldier to be a good choice, and Encino Man is more out of his depth and incompetent than malicious. Griego (in the series) is a little dick though, he has a grudge against Nate and Brad makes him look incompetent - thus, Griego. 
> 
> I appreciate anyone and everyone who takes the time out of their day after reading to leave a comment - I know you don't have to and I'm genuinely grateful to read your thoughts. I hope you enjoyed!


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